The e-mail address appended at the bottom of this column is there for a reason: it means I am no longer replying to correspondence about television and associated topics from my personal address.

In the last week I received a number of very similar e-mails on the latter; these are being completely ignored.

Meanwhile, one of the important messages I received at television@timesofmalta.com concerns Riħ Isfel.

My correspondent complained about the fact that the main actor, who happens to be a child, appears to have a cruel streak in him. He is egged on in his bad behaviour by one of his elders, and, moreover, is promised an inappropriate reward if he follows instructions given to him.

The scripting of the series was done by Pierre Mejlak, the author of the award-winning book.

Some people purchase novels being read on radio in order to follow the story better; this is one of the few cases where it could be done with a television series. Like the book, it has a surprise redemptive conclusion; but of course plenty of water has to pass under the bridge before it comes to pass.

Charles Stroud, the director, points out that the plot evolves around the boy who is being used by adults for their own devious ends. Children are assumed not to be watching television after the watershed. Yet the series has a PG rating, which, Stroud says, is a brilliant teaching opportunity for adults to discuss right and wrong with their youngsters.

The air pistol given to the child is the fulcrum upon which several subsequent events hinge.

Stroud says that the boy is shown baiting a cat, but he never describes what he does. The child is presented as being repugnant so that the viewers will not take a liking to him. Where it comes to local productions, people are eager to censor certain actions, whereas foreign dramas, rife with negativities (and that includes the news bulletins) do not elicit condemnation.

Louiselle Vassallo, media manager at Media.link communications, says that people expect children to be “little angels”. It is precisely this situation that makes Riħ Isfel so compelling to watch – nurture takes over nature.

Vassallo said that indeed, she had to call in on Gloria Mizzi’s programme Il-Mara ta’ Llum (sic) when a caller brought up this same argument.

“People never call in to complain about the fact that (in a local drama production) a man beats his wife to a pulp.” This was not because violence on women is ‘expected’, but “because we put such scenes in context and thus, conclude that it is relevant to the storyline.”

Here, I differ. It is never ‘in context’ or ‘relevant to the story line’ to beat up anyone – woman, man, child, or animal.

Vassallo agrees that there are two standards by which drama is measured: the verisimilitude expected from foreign productions, and criticism that pours in when this is obtained in local work.

Some drama companies treat beginners as professionals. They make them sign exclusivity and non-disclosure contracts. The actors get paid. Even if it’s a nominal fee, an actor feels his time and talent are worth something.

Other companies boast that working with them on any project is “incredible fun”. This is usually tantamount to a declaration that no fees will be paid, and the implication is that it is the actors who ought to be shelling out for the opportunity to rub shoulders with ‘personalities’.

Some, however, do not see this as a warning light – and then complain that they are expected to be on call in case the weather obliges with the torrential rain or scorching sunshine for which the script calls.

On set, however, both types of production houses expect perfect discipline and professional conduct. Some groups are expected to meet socially as well despite other commitments. The irony of it all is that the blind loyalty these companies expect sometimes verges on obsession.

Maltese television is currently inundated with drama series, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. Moreover, when it comes to publicity, some do not hesitate to go for the in-your-face method, but use alternative media and social sites to perpetrate ‘brand awareness’.

When push comes to shove, however, we find that some plots are practically re-writes of past productions, foreign or local, rife with tropes and stock characters, with slight tweaks here and there to avoid outright accusations of plagiarism and for a perfunctionary nod towards ‘originality’.

There’s the goody two-shoes who is not what she appears to be; the person who is supposed to be dead, but is not; the youth with a chip on his shoulder; the petulant mother-in-law; the tattooed villain...

At least, the effort made by some production companies to find relatively new faces has almost put an end to the confusion we used to feel when the saintly husband in one drama turned up as a scoundrel in another, and the fishwife of one series morphed into a bedridden invalid in the other.

At the other end of the scale, it is interesting to note that as happens with La Premiata Ditta but with considerably less talent, some companies recycle the same handful of actors time and again. When additional ones are needed, then it is ‘only fair’ to give parts to actors – no matter what their acting capabilities may be – who have taken acting courses with them.

Not many directors have the guts to say, in their introductory lecture to drama classes, that enrolment will be in the next lesson, because there are those who expect a part in the next production as (re)payment for their custom.

television@timesofmalta.com